


And So They Met Dutch.

by FeralEnby



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, The meetings arent in any sort of order, Will add more tags as more characters appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-27 20:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21124451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralEnby/pseuds/FeralEnby
Summary: A collection of one shots describing how each member of the Van Der Linde Gang met their future fateful leader.





	1. Strauss

**Author's Note:**

> I literally never post on AO3 so forgive me if the formatting of my stories are a bit wonky!

Twenty eight years old and Leopold Strauss already felt like his life was over. There was nothing for him in America- he was foolish to think that there might have actually been some sort of hope for him to have a better life here than back home in Austria. He had been here since he was seventeen and he had nothing to show for it, other than the small pocket watch that belonged to his uncle who we arrived with, and a photograph of his younger sister Anna. Oh, how he prayed that she was still alive back home, somewhere safe and happy- another foolish thought he would have to learn to subdue. 

Leopold waved goodbye to the shopkeeper and closed the general store door behind him as he left one of the many dead end jobs he had had since arriving to New York. he hated this city, yet it seemed that he would never have enough to actually get out. His walk back home was dangerous, walking through bad neighborhoods with drunken men and women yelling and screaming nonsense at one another. He could hardly call his home a safe place from it all though- could hardly call it a home at all. A one bedroom apartment with a single broken window, crawling with bugs, and a single mat on the floor for him to sleep. If there were a hell, Leopold was certain he lived in it. There was a scream and gunshots nearby, causing Leopold to flinch and quicken his pace, shoving his hands into his pockets, closing the small amount of coins he had into fists. He canceled out the noise as he usually did, keeping concerned with no one but himself and just wanting to get home. This was fine, he would be fine, there was no need to-

“HEY!” the scream abrupted through the forced silence Leopold had put himself in, and he was pulled out of his walk by a hand gripping his arm and slamming him against a wall. He grunted at the sudden force, vision going double for a moment before returning back to normal. The stranger gripped Leopold’s arms tightly, causing him to yelp out and struggle to get free with no results. 

“You hear me, boy?” The man says, breath reeking of alcohol so much so it makes Leopold gag. “I said you was the one who scammed me outta 50 dollars!” he screamed, and Leopold leans back against the wall, trying to create a distance between them. “Said you’s was gonna use that money to make me richer! Instead you took it and ran, ya’ selfish bastard!” The man's anger only grew. Leopold doesn’t respond, too surprised and fearful to even fully comprehend english, let alone respond. He lets out a shaky gasp and shakes his head, attempting once again to yank himself away.

It doesn’t work, and the man doesn’t take too kindly to it. The man yells something leopold can’t make out, lets go of him and takes a step back. For a moment Leopold thinks perhaps the man has decided to go waste his time elsewhere, leave him alone. A foolish thought. Leopold should’ve known better than to run a scam so close to where he lived. The moment is quickly over as the man brings a fist into contact with Leopold’s face, causing his glasses to go flying and knocking him over to his knees. Leopold curses out, finally pulling his hands out of his pockets and holding them out. It was only a few dollars, it was all Leopold had, but he was desperate to get away from an even worse beating that were to come if he resisted any further. The man paused for a second, grabbing the money and looking at it.  
“This it?” The man asked, glaring down at Leopold. He dropped his hands to cover his now bleeding nose, nodding quickly. 

“Ja- yes, yes, that’s it, that’s all I ha-” Leopold is quickly cut off.

“Son of a bitch!” the man yells, throwing the money to the ground and slamming his foot into Leopold’s chest. The Austrian man groaned in pain, falling back, and before hee had anytime to react, the man slammed his foot into his side, once, twice, three times till Leopold was doubled over in pain, holding his side and practically hacking up a lung. “You stole fifty fucking dollars from me, you bastard, now give me my money!” he reaches out, but Leopold quickly scrambles back. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have been dumb enough to believe such a lie, moron!” Leopold finally screams, the dam bursting. The man yells in anger and grabs him by his shirt, pulling him to his feet and punching him in the face again. And again. And again and again and again and-

Another gun has been fired, this one so close it makes Leopold’s ears ring. His attacker goes rigid, and drops to the ground. Leopold collapses too, out of shock and exhaustion, staring in disbelief at his now dead attacker.

“Must’ve been quite the scam to get the feller so angry.” A voice says.

Leopold breathes heavy, looking over to where the shot came from. A young man with black hair and a smirk on his face is putting his gun back into its holster, seeming impressed with himself. A second man, a little older and a bit taller with pale blonde hair stands behind the first, rolling his eyes. 

“You alright, my friend?” The first man asks, taking a few steps forward, raising a brow. “You look like you’ve seen better days.”

Oh jesus. What a sight Leopold must be, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, bruises already starting to form all over. He doesn’t respond though, and just looks up at the first man, briefly glancing at the second. 

“I’m not sure if he speaks english, Dutch.” the second man says, sounding bored. 

The first man- Dutch, it sounds like, simply shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I can’t try to be courteous,” he says simply. “You got a name?”

Leopold stares at Dutch for a moment. He can’t quite make out his facial details, what with his eye swelling and no glasses, it’s hard to tell how anything looks. Finally though, Leopold gains his senses back, nodding quickly and reaching over to the side and grabbing his glasses- nothing but a small crack in the lenses- and putting them on. “Strauss,” He says, pushing himself onto his feet. “Leopold Strauss.”

“So you do speak english! Perfect!” Dutch says enthusiastically, eyes lighting up. “Well Strauss, I’m Dutch and this is my companion, Hosea-”

The tall blonde man nods in greeting. 

“-And I must admit, I’m curious to know what exactly you did to that man to make him so angry!” Dutch continues. Leopold wipes away the blood currently running from his nose. There was a lot, maybe he should see a doctor. 

“I, uh, uhm…” Leopold tries to talk but instead he starts to sway and cough again. God his head was killing him. 

“Jesus Dutch, maybe we should see if he’s not dying before asking him so many questions.” He feels a hand steady him and pull him to stand upright. “C’mon, we got someplace a lot better than here for you to rest up.”

“Thanks,” Leopold wheezes out between coughs. He feels himself be pulled forward by Hosea, finally leaving this dreaded street.

“I got a good feelin’ about this one, ‘Sea,” He hears Dutch say, “This ones gonna be real handy for gettin’ us money.”

“Overhearing that he pulled one scarm doesn’t prove anything.” Hosea grunts.

Leopold frowned, but couldn’t muster the energy to rebuttal. He had been scamming since he came to this god forsaken country, and so far this was one of the few times it had caught up with him. 

“Regardless,” Dutch says, “It’ll be nice to have someone new around camp.”  
Leopold silently wondered what he had gotten himself into.


	2. Tilly

There is a young girl pointing a gun at Dutch. She came out of nowhere, quite literally jumping out of the bushes with her finger on the trigger, ready to shoot at any wrong step Dutch may take. The dead of night, by himself, and a gun is pointed at him. Just his luck, the one time he tried to do something to clear his mind, something as simple as a walk, would be ruined. 

They’re just outside the nearby town, to far away for anyone to notice whats happening if they saw, not that anyone is awake to see what’s going on. A grown man being held at gunpoint by a little girl.

Her hair is messy and her dress is torn, she’s small, so small, too small to be on her own all the way out here. Something pulls at the strings in Dutch’s heart. He raises his hands as a sign of peace. The way she’s holding the gun and how she stands unshaken, he has no doubts that this is the first time she’s pointed a gun at someone. Not the last time either. 

“Don’t you dare move,” She hisses, “Don’t you dare touch me.” Her voice is strong and confident, anger just on the edge of it. Dutch simply looks at her, and she glared right back. He takes a step forward, and so does she. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss” Dutch says softly. Maybe he can reason with her. There’s a large bruise on her left cheek. He can’t leave her here, not this far down south, the very idea leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “What’s your name?” Dutch finally asks.

She doesn’t respond, just tightens the grip on her gun, knuckles turning white, not moving or taking her eyes off him. Dutch sighs and slowly moves one hand to pull his guns out his holsters and tossing them to the side. He raises his hands back to the same position. A sign of peace. A sign he won’t hurt her.She seems to relax a little bit, loosening the grip on the gun slightly, but not lowering it completely. 

“My Name is Dutch. Dutch Van Der Linde.” 

She swallows hard, shifting slightly where she stood. “Matilda,” she says finally. “Matilda Jackson, but- but my mama called me Tilly.”

“Matilda Jackson,” Dutch repeats, a small smile forming on his face. She can’t be that old- the same age as John when Dutch and Hosea had first found him. She’s a child. She’s alone. She’s probably expecting him to do something bad, and with where they are he isn’t surprised. “Where’s your mama, Miss Jackson? Surely she must be worried?” 

Matilda makes a choking sound, her grip on the gun tightening again, eyes wide and mouth twisting in a way similar to Arthurs when his own mother was brought up and he acted like he wasn’t sad about her being gone. 

“She’s- she’s dead. Been gone for awhile,” Matilda says stiffly. “I got- I got taken by these fellers, real bad fellers, and when I finally got away from them…” she pauses, letting out a shaky breath, looking away from Dutch. “She was gone.” 

A silence sits between them now. Dutch already figured that her mother was dead, that’s just how it is. But the expectancy doesn’t stop the pang of heartache he feels for this little girl. 

Matilda looks back at him, there are tears in her eyes but her voice is still strong. “You need to go. Go back where you came from, and leave me alone.”

“...I’d like to help you-”

“Help me?”

Her demeanor changes completely from cautious back to angry, glaring daggers at Dutch and gritting her teeth. 

“Help me?!” she practically yells, taking a sudden step forward and jabbing the gun into Dutch’s face. More determined, more angry. “You wanna know what happened the last time I let someone ‘help me’?!” she yells.

“Miss Jackson-”

“I got taken from my mama, I was forced to ride with these freeman brothers-!”

“Miss Jackson, please-”

“And they hurt me real bad! And when I finally escaped my mama was dead! I lost everything because I let someone ‘help me’!” Matilda was screaming now, surprising Dutch so much that somehow she had gained the upper hand, backing him up at gunpoint. “And you wanna know how I got away from those Freeman Brothers, Mister Van Der Linde?” she asks bitterly, finger lightly tapping on the trigger. Dutch was starting to regret throwing his gun away. 

“I killed one of ‘em. Right in his own home, right where he slept, I took a knife to his throat and slit it, I stabbed him over and over. I killed him. I did it. And I’d do it again.”

Dutch purses his lips and nods. “And I don’t doubt that, Miss Jackson.” He says softly “I don’t doubt that you were in the right to murder that man either. But I promise you with complete sincerity that I will not hurt you.”   
“And just how do you expect me to believe you?”

“I’ll let you carry my guns while I take you back to my camp,” He says firmly. Keep his cool, keep his calm, don’t let this little girl be alone any longer. “You can keep your own gun pointed at me too. And I swear none of my people will hurt you.”

Matilda pauses, thinking over Dutch’s offer relaxing once again as she thought over his words.

“And if they do hurt me?” she asks, softer than her previous words.

“Then I myself will kill them.” theres no sign of dishonesty behind his words, not that Dutch was lying. His words to Matilda were honest and genuine. 

She stares at him for another moment, another moment of silence. 

She lowers the gun.

“Okay.”

Dutch sighs, a smiling appearing on his face, relief washing over him and finally lowering his hands. “There ain’t many kids back at camp but...my friends Hosea and Arthur, they’re real good fellers and I bet they’d like to meet you. Miss Grimshaw too, she’ll even fix up that dress of yours I bet. Warm dinner every night, a safe place to sleep...I promise, Miss Jackson,” He holds out his hand for her to take. “I will never let any harm come to you.”

There is another, yes another, pause. A final pause.

She takes his hand. 

“You can just call me Tilly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually posted this on tumblr originally (@discouragedmen), but 1) I wanted to post it here and 2) I wanted to rewrite it. I really love the potential for Dutch and Tilly's father/daughter relationship, I wish I could write about them more.


End file.
